


Nothing Here

by Callisto



Series: Season 5 codas [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode Related, Episode: s05e15 Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid, Gen, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"We can’t come back here, Dean. You know that, right? Can’t call him, can’t ask him for help for anything. I mean, shit, all of this happened right here—to Bobby, to the Sheriff, this town—because of us.” He swallows. “Because of me.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Here

**Author's Note:**

> _Bobby: “I told you there was nothing here. And there isn’t. Not for you.”  
>  \- Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid – 5.15_
> 
> Thanks to Ancasta for the beta.

“You think he’ll be okay?”

Dean looks at Sam, not entirely sure why Sam keeps asking that. He looks back at Bobby’s front door through the windshield. Bobby turned his chair and went straight back in, not staying to see them off as he often does.

“You heard him. He’s killed and burned the love of his life twice now. I’d say okay is not even close, wouldn’t you?”

There’s silence for a beat or two as they both study that closed front door. Willing it to open, maybe, and for Bobby to be there, scowl and cap restored as he waves them in for a beer and a scolding. Which is completely stupid. Dean reaches out to turn the key, surprised when Sam’s hand rests on his forearm. He tilts his head in question, watches as Sam’s shoulders rise and fall.

“We can’t come back here, Dean. You know that, right? Can’t call him, can’t ask him for help for anything. I mean, shit, all of this happened right here—to Bobby, to the Sheriff, this town—because of us.” He swallows. “Because of me.”

“Sam...” Dean feels the pinch of another headache about to start.

“No, I’m not... Look, I get it. It’s because I’m saying no and I have to be fine with that. But this is Bobby, and you said it yourself. He’s family, and I am not fine with bringing him any more grief.”

“Hey, I’m not arguing here.” Dean casts another glance at the door. The sun has gone in, the smell of ash and fire is still heavy in the air, and everything about the house looks shuttered and abandoned. Which is so fucking fitting somehow. One more person’s life screwed up and discarded thanks to the Winchesters.

“It’s just...it’s Bobby,” is all he can manage.

“I know. Which is why we stay away.”

Dean looks at the keys in his lap. “I think we’re off his Christmas card list for now anyway.”

“No kidding.”

He looks back up at his brother. So determined to be fine, and so clearly not. He remembers the pile of corpses stacked up outside the door. And Sam, standing there in his perfect soldier’s stance, asking if he and Bobby were okay...

Dean clears his throat. “You know, outside of you and me and an on-again off-again angel, Team Free Will is looking mighty small these days, Sam. So don’t you be going anywhere, okay?”

Sam looks genuinely puzzled by the question. “I’m not...where would I go?”

“Nowhere. I’m just sayin’...” he stops as words from long ago come back. Words that have never been as true as they are now. He blurts them out before he can stop himself. “I can’t do this alone.”

 _Yes, you can_

 _Yeah well, maybe I don’t want to_

Sam nods and grips his shoulder a little awkwardly. Dean closes his eyes a second, lets himself feel those strong fingers squeeze in. Then he shrugs him off when he leans forward to turn the key in the ignition.

“No one’s asking you to, Dean,” Sam says quietly. “I’m right here.”

Dean nods and turns the key. He doesn’t want to look at his brother right now, because as much as he knows Sam means it, Bobby— _Bobby_ —just chose a zombie over both of them. So all bets are off as to what he can trust to stay the same in this shitty, hateful apocalypse.

But none of that is fair to Sam, whose hand is back on his shoulder as they pull out, and who is really trying so goddamn hard these days...

“Come on, Dean. Just drive, man. Stick some AC/DC on, wind the window down, annoy me as only you can. You’ll feel better in no time.”

Dean shakes his head, unwilling to let his mood be lifted. But he can feel a tug at the corner of his mouth. “Annoy you, huh?”

“Been doing it for years, man. Why stop now?”

It’s dumb, and it’s Sam being so friggin’ obvious he might as well stick out his tongue and start supergluing stuff again.

But looking for the box, and then for the AC/DC tape, while Sam rolls his eyes and whines about the joys of mullet rock, kind of saves him this time around.

There’s no Bobby in his rearview, no mutts straining their chains to come with them, and all those cars piled high against the faint tang of smoke feels too much like an honest to God graveyard.

So Dean tightens his jaw and doesn’t look back as the scrapyard slowly disappears from view, and Sam—may he stay in shotgun forever and a day—does his best to help by changing the volume and declaring in no uncertain terms that AC/DC are pussies.

******


End file.
